ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (06-07-18)
My neighbor's son and daughter-in-law had a "reveal party" last Saturday. I already know that my neighbor's kid is a boy, so the reveal must have been for their grandkid. When it was time for the big event, the soon-to-be Dad lined himself up, took a nice backswing and hit a golf ball, which exploded in a puff of pink smoke. It's a girl! I guess he was hoping for a boy, because he let out an expletive and threw his golf club into the woods. Apparently it was a surprise, but what what was more surprising is that he would use a 7-iron on a tee shot. I'm pretty sure his reaction was a put-on, but it would have shocked anybody who doesn't know him too well. My neighbor says he'll be blubbering away when the kid leaves for college. Wait until he gets the bill if you want to see some real blubbering.
Things are sure different than they used to be. It used to be that your friends would announce a new addition to the family, and you would ask the husband is it going to be a boy or a girl, and he would say, "how the hell do I know? I didn't even know she was pregnant." And then you'd go have a beer, and in a couple years you'd know the answer.
Or the ultrasound technician would call both parents in to see the gender reveal on a scope that shows what looks like a map of downtown Cleveland. How you can ascertain anything from looking at an ultrasound screen I'll never know, other than that the traffic is horrible in Cleveland. "Look- it's a boy," the tech explains. "WOW!" Dad exclaims. "See? That's his arm." "OH, thank god."
Or they would send it in the birth announcement: "ITS A GIRL!" With a pink card that tells you what the baby's length and weight are. They never tell you what the baby's width is, which is more important than its height, since it spends so much time lying down. And ten bucks says that girl is ALREADY lying about her weight.
I feel sorry for those parents who spent all this money on a gender reveal party, and a couple decades later, BOOM: they're a different gender altogether. Congratulations! It's gender-neutral! I have some experience on this subject, and for your information, you can refer to your gender-neutral friend using the pronoun "they." Those individuals have a little bit of this and a little bit of that. And I have to tell you, it would be kind of liberating not to have to conform to such strict rules all the time. My wife wanted me to kill a spider, because I'm the guy, and I swear this thing had hairy legs and a beard. I finally convinced her that we should let it live, because it can eat many times its weight in pests. Then I noticed my wife trying to calculate my weight and musing to herself what it might be like to vacation in the Caribbean with a fairly good-looking spider.
And wouldn't it be nice to watch a sad movie once in a while and not be so self-conscious? "I'm not sitting through that sappy crap- take one of your girlfriends." "Why, because you cried like a baby during 'Titanic?'" "I DID NOT!" I cried.
Anyway, the party was nice and the idea was kind of cute, and maybe we shouldn't limit the action to baby genders. What about when the big trial ends, and the jury foreman approaches the bench and whispers to the judge. His Honor releases a swarm of balloons: white, you're going home; gray, you're goin' down. The Vatican spews forth white smoke when they either elect a new pope or someone violates the no smoking policy up in the cupola. Let's do the same thing to make our presidential election day more festive and dramatic. Let's get our hands on some smoke and have some fun when we count up the votes. Red smoke, you've got yourself a Republican, blue smoke lands you a Democrat. Orange smoke, of course, means.... Well, let's just hope for the best.
My neighbor's son and daughter-in-law had a "reveal party" last Saturday. I already know that my neighbor's kid is a boy, so the reveal must have been for their grandkid. When it was time for the big event, the soon-to-be Dad lined himself up, took a nice backswing and hit a golf ball, which exploded in a puff of pink smoke. It's a girl! I guess he was hoping for a boy, because he let out an expletive and threw his golf club into the woods. Apparently it was a surprise, but what what was more surprising is that he would use a 7-iron on a tee shot. I'm pretty sure his reaction was a put-on, but it would have shocked anybody who doesn't know him too well. My neighbor says he'll be blubbering away when the kid leaves for college. Wait until he gets the bill if you want to see some real blubbering.
Things are sure different than they used to be. It used to be that your friends would announce a new addition to the family, and you would ask the husband is it going to be a boy or a girl, and he would say, "how the hell do I know? I didn't even know she was pregnant." And then you'd go have a beer, and in a couple years you'd know the answer.
Or the ultrasound technician would call both parents in to see the gender reveal on a scope that shows what looks like a map of downtown Cleveland. How you can ascertain anything from looking at an ultrasound screen I'll never know, other than that the traffic is horrible in Cleveland. "Look- it's a boy," the tech explains. "WOW!" Dad exclaims. "See? That's his arm." "OH, thank god."
Or they would send it in the birth announcement: "ITS A GIRL!" With a pink card that tells you what the baby's length and weight are. They never tell you what the baby's width is, which is more important than its height, since it spends so much time lying down. And ten bucks says that girl is ALREADY lying about her weight.
I feel sorry for those parents who spent all this money on a gender reveal party, and a couple decades later, BOOM: they're a different gender altogether. Congratulations! It's gender-neutral! I have some experience on this subject, and for your information, you can refer to your gender-neutral friend using the pronoun "they." Those individuals have a little bit of this and a little bit of that. And I have to tell you, it would be kind of liberating not to have to conform to such strict rules all the time. My wife wanted me to kill a spider, because I'm the guy, and I swear this thing had hairy legs and a beard. I finally convinced her that we should let it live, because it can eat many times its weight in pests. Then I noticed my wife trying to calculate my weight and musing to herself what it might be like to vacation in the Caribbean with a fairly good-looking spider.
And wouldn't it be nice to watch a sad movie once in a while and not be so self-conscious? "I'm not sitting through that sappy crap- take one of your girlfriends." "Why, because you cried like a baby during 'Titanic?'" "I DID NOT!" I cried.
Anyway, the party was nice and the idea was kind of cute, and maybe we shouldn't limit the action to baby genders. What about when the big trial ends, and the jury foreman approaches the bench and whispers to the judge. His Honor releases a swarm of balloons: white, you're going home; gray, you're goin' down. The Vatican spews forth white smoke when they either elect a new pope or someone violates the no smoking policy up in the cupola. Let's do the same thing to make our presidential election day more festive and dramatic. Let's get our hands on some smoke and have some fun when we count up the votes. Red smoke, you've got yourself a Republican, blue smoke lands you a Democrat. Orange smoke, of course, means.... Well, let's just hope for the best.
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